| SONNET 14 | SONNET 14 |
| Louise Labé | tr. Peter Low |
|
Tant que mes yeux pourront larmes épandre A l'heur passé avec toi regretter: Et qu'aux sanglots et soupirs résister Pourra ma voix, et un peu faire entendre: Tant que ma main pourra les cordes tendre Du mignard Luth, pour tes grâces chanter: Tant que l'esprit se voudra contenter De ne vouloir rien fors que toi comprendre: Je ne souhaite encore point mourir. Mais quand mes yeux je sentirai tarir, Ma voix cassée, et ma main impuissante, Et mon esprit en ce mortel séjour Ne pouvant plus montrer signe d'amante: Prierai la mort noircir mon plus clair jour. |
As long as tears can flow from these my eyes when I recall my happy days with you; as long as feeble sobs and broken sighs are not the sum of what my voice can do; as long as this my hand can pluck the strings of the dainty lute, and praise you with sweet tone; and this my mind has no great hankerings for any thoughts but those of you alone, I’ll be content to still have life and breath. But when I find my eyes becoming parched, my voice a croak, my hand a wooden glove, and my poor mind, tired in its mortal march, no longer able to bring forth signs of love, why then I’ll crave the smothering cloak of death. |
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Trans. Copyright © Peter Low 2005